


hold on

by towards



Category: South Park
Genre: Canonical Child Abuse, Character Death, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Past Drug Addiction, Terminal Illnesses, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-01-31 15:42:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21448633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/towards/pseuds/towards
Summary: But previously manageable symptoms have become debilitating over the course of the last few weeks. The best place to be would be the hospital, but he’s terrified of hospitals. The stress is bad for him, mentally and physically, and an inpatient stay was quickly changed to (not palliative, Craig insists) care at home.
Relationships: Craig Tucker/Tweek Tweak
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38





	hold on

**Author's Note:**

> from a prompt i got on tumblr and i'm always weak for writing a death scene.
> 
> tweek's been an addict since he was a kid and struggled to get clean for years. things finally start going right only for it all to go wrong.

They start dating again when Craig gets an apartment off campus and sends for him, hauling him away from his family and helping him build a legal case with Mr. Broflovski against his parents. The story makes headlines, all their dirty laundry is dragged out into the open and hung up for everyone to see - and despite what his parents had told him, he’s not vilified. His story is heard and repeated, talk shows and celebrities weigh in on the crime and the case is a god damn slam dunk.

But every day is a new fight, each moment a struggle. Getting clean isn’t a battle, it’s a _war_. It tests their relationship in ways he didn’t think it would survive. Craig’s there when he gets the one month chip, and the six month, and the twelve - and there again when he has to start all over again at _one_, again and again. Setting his hopes and dreams aside in favor of supporting his boyfriend (now fiance, _almost_ husband) and that hurts in ways that he can’t quite express. Craig’s schooling gets put on hold when he begins to get sick, he starts working at a dead-end job to try to support them both. They move back home, to be closer to a support system, into a little two-story house with cheap rent. And the winnings from the court case against his parents get shunted into mounting medical costs.

It’s all terrible. It’s all _rotten_. But for a time, despite it, they’re _happy_.

They’re supposed to get married in the summer, all of their friends and family (Craig’s family, Tweek’s send their regards from prison) have RSVPed. They’re _supposed_ to have a life beyond this.

But previously manageable symptoms have become debilitating over the course of the last few weeks. The best place to be would be the hospital, but he’s terrified of hospitals. The stress is bad for him, mentally and physically, and an inpatient stay was quickly changed to (_not _palliative, Craig insists) care at home.

(In one particularly regretful argument he’d said what he was thinking, _hospitals are a bad place to die_ and watched as Craig’s heart shattered into a million tiny pieces. Hopefully, one day, someone would be able to fit them together again.)

The stairs to their bedroom had become a mountain Tweek couldn’t climb. Craig had no problems with carrying him up and down them, playfully saying he _liked_ the chance to flex. But when he began to deteriorate further, it was clear it wasn’t safe for him to be up there. A bad fall had left him with a sprained ankle. He couldn’t remember what he was even doing to get himself to the bottom of the stairs.

The living room has become a hospital (_hospital_, not _hospice_ craig insists) and Craig the full time staff. Almost every part of Tweek’s body is suffering from the _lifetime_ of addiction, and the last relapse hadn’t been more than a few months before. A transplant isn’t coming any time soon, the powers that be will send it to someone more deserving. They relocate him to a hospital bed in the middle of the room and Craig takes up residence on the couch, scaring away the worst of his delusions with his mere presence. 

When Craig’s at work, Kenny babysits. Or Kyle. Or, when he’s home, Token. All of them wear the same pinched smile - the one that says they know this is hopeless, that he looks worse every time they see him, but they enjoy what time they can get.

Reality and Tweek are becoming more and more estranged as his body begins to slowly fall apart, his mind giving out bit by bit as his brain begins to falter. He’s rarely awake, and rarely _lucid_ when he is. He loses time, sees things that aren’t there - the Grim Reaper looks a lot like Kenny McCormick, and last Tweek looked he was waiting patiently by the door.

The power flickers. The wind is howling outside.

Craig’s on the phone, becoming increasing hysterical. The monotone is breaking and he’’s shouting at someone on the receiver, _I already gave him that its not helping! I need someone here now._

Everything hurts. His eyes are wet with tears he doesn’t remember shedding. He feels like he’s on _fire_ and utterly frigid all at once, wracked with shivers his body is too exhausted to have.

The latest episode of Red Racer is ending, the ending credit music is warm and cheerful. His eyes are closed, he doesn’t see he emergency news bulletin that follows lets them know that the way to Hell’s Pass has been closed - the 911 call he’d placed isn’t going to be answered. And Craig’s hung up and called his mom (again) to come help him out, to do something, because Tweek’s getting worse and _no he_ _hasn’t signed the DNR yet please come please he’s in so much pain_ but the roads aren’t passable she already tried.

They need to keep him going until there are plows on the road. 

There’s a _thunk_ and he knows there’s a fresh hole in the wall. Tweek barely registers the noise, only pulled out of the haze as Craig touches the side of his face with a cool glass and gently coaxes him to take his medicine_, i know its hard to swallow babe but you need to work with me here_. His voice more nasal than usual, eyes reddened by the hours of frustrated crying.

His eyes drift shut. The narrow hospital cot sinks in as his fiance climbs onto it with him.

The bed isn’t really big enough for two, but he’s been cold all day and blankets don’t seem to be doing the trick. It’s not so bad, Craig’s curled around him from behind, trapping his cold feet between his warm calves and trying to rub warmth into his swollen, numb hands. He should be at _work_ but instead he’s here, desperately mumbling reassurances into his dying boyfriend’s messy hair. The top of his head is wet, and Craig’s breath _hitches_ every now and again.

“I-It’s going to be okay… It’s okay…” He tries to squeeze his hand. Reassure him, but all the strength has left him. The world is faded at the edges, and even with a machine doing the hard work of breathing _for_ him it feels hard to draw in air. He’s been in pain all day, they’ve been waiting for help - but it isn’t coming. He knows as the pain starts to ebb away that Craig’s given him an extra dosage of _something_ to ease his suffering.

The only thing he can do in the face of it now.

_Hang on_._ Hang on, just hang on_. Each repeat sounds just a little more hopeless.

Tweek's last words are an unintelligble mumble against his throat. _I love you_ is lost to the fever. Craig pets his hair, begging him to hold on until he's forced to press a kiss to his temple and say its okay to let go. He'll be okay, he'll manage, it's _okay_ because he's in pain and has been in pain for so long.

Laura Tucker bursts through the front door hours later. Thomas Tucker stays in the car with the engine running. Ready to go the second they're in the car, never fully understanding his son or his choicce in a partner but loving him all the same. The scene is one of misery, Craig curled around the too-still body of his boyfriend. Stroking a hand along his pale face. 

"Oh no," she breathes, and in an instant her son is in her arms. Pulling him gently away from the body, holding him as the wave of grief crashes over him and pulls him under.


End file.
